Transcendence
by ruleofacquisition33
Summary: A girl faces her worst nightmare when the Borg assimilate her world.


Note: This is a general Star Trek story, but I put in the Voyager category because it contains spoilers about Voyager (mostly talking about Seven and the Borg Children). However, I do reference some Next Gen content, like the Battle of Wolf 359 and Hugh. Be prepared for spoilers there also! Enjoy, and please review!

* * *

Prologue

The Queen's cube flew through the void that was space as the vessel approached the unsuspecting world. The Queen had seen this species and wanted it instantly- their physical distinctiveness would greatly improve the perfection of the Collective. They were primitive and undeveloped, and their defense systems were crude, but the Queen had deduced that this was better for the Borg, simply because it would make it easier to assimilate them. The thoughts of the Queen whirled through the Collective consciousness faster than any of the drones that surrounded her could hope to understand them. But that was of no consequence to the Queen. _Species 2311 has a great deal of potential,_ she thought. _It is almost a pity that they must be assimilated. Almost. But they are just another species, who will become mere drones to perfect the Borg._ As the cube neared the planet, the drones in their alcoves began to stir. Their regeneration cycles ended, and their implants began spinning and spinning. The Queen thoroughly enjoyed the sound of drones waking from their sleep, the drones with their gray skin, empty eyes, and cybernetic implants. _They will terrify Species 2311_ , she thought. _Unfortunate. Terror often causes the species we assimilate to resist, making it harder to be efficient_. The Queen smiled then. Her smile was bone-chilling and wicked. No one on board the cube could hear, but the Queen whispered,

"Resistance is futile."

* * *

Part 1: Individual

It had been a beautiful day, and I never wanted it to end. The sky was a cloudless, flawless blue, and it was a comfortable temperature. The grass was green, and soft on my bare feet. I sat down on the gentle slope of the hill next to Elijah, extending my legs and crossing my ankles, one on top of the other, and then smoothing my skirt over my knees.

"Celia! I wasn't expecting you," Elijah says.

"It's a beautiful day. It shouldn't be a crime for me to want to watch the sunset with a close friend," I reply. "Maybe… more than a friend."

He looks shocked by my last statement, and I can't say I blame him. I can see the heat rising through his cheeks and up to the point of his ears. That's how I know he likes me. That, and the fact that we have been friends our whole lives. Since this morning, with the gorgeous sunrise, I'd been hoping for a moment like this. I've got a feeling about today, good or bad, I can't say. I just know that Elijah and I have to have this talk. I know my total honesty can come off wrong sometimes, but hey- the way I see it, not holding anything back is better for a more productive lifestyle. It's only logical.

Still blushing, Elijah looks at me with his rich blue-purple eyes, the eyes that all my people have. "Do you really think that we will get any further than friendship?"

Those words hurt more than I would have expected them to. All I can do is hope that my pain doesn't show on my face. Hoping wasn't enough. Tears brim in my eyes. I can't cry in front of Elijah. I get up to leave, hastily, my skirt swishing around my knees.

"No, Celia- that's not what I meant- don't go, wait! Celia! I'm sorry, I- Celia. Please!" I push Elijah's pleading voice to the back of my mind, breaking into a run to get away from him.

I can't take it anymore- all of the times I'd thought he had feelings for me and now every waking moment that I am sure I have feelings for him. I stop running suddenly. My pointed ears discern a buzzing sound- an uncanny whirring- from the cheerful voices of those enjoying the evening weather and the sunset out on the hillside. I am probably the only one who can hear the sound because I'm not talking or being spoken to, but all heads turn when the unmistakeable sound of footsteps resonates from the direction opposite the village. I gasp, in that moment, and I am not the only one.

There are people, horrifying people, coming towards the hillside and the village. They stop when they see us. They stand perfectly straight, unmoving. It is a standoff I'm not sure we will win. The figures are clad in a sort of armor- it is black and looks very heavy, and shows the outlines of their muscles. Somehow that makes them even more terrifying. Wires stick out of their armor at odd angles and connect into their heads at different places. One arm on each of their bodies ends in a glove made of the same material that composes their armor. The hand covering has something attached to it, but I can't make it out. Their skin is pale and grey and their veins show very clearly beneath it, dark lines forming a web beneath the thin layer of skin. I can see that every other person- are they even people?- has a dark patch over their eye, but it is not fabric and seems to connect directly to the eye and is not held on by a string. Then they speak. My heart beats faster and faster until I'm sure it will explode. Their mouths don't move, but the words echo from nowhere, throughout the silence of the hillside. Many voices, speaking as one. The same inflection, the same words, the same everything. I don't want to fight the urge to run, but my feet will not move. The voices begin, speaking will agonizing precision.

"We are the Borg. You will be assimilated. Your biological and technological distinctiveness will be added to our own. Your culture will adapt to service us. Resistance is futile."

The way they say 'futile', with three syllables instead of two, chills me to the bone.

There is a painfully long silence as the statement sinks in among the people on the hillside. My thoughts are horrified and frenzied, and it takes a great deal of concentration for me to sort them out.

The seconds feel like hours as we face off with our invaders. And then they move.

With the same precision that they used while speaking, the people move carefully and silently, save for the whirring of their armor. Only one of them is moving right now, and he is slowly advancing on a pair sitting on the hillside. I know them- they are the Marcus sisters, Zoe and Emmalee. I was close friends with Zoe for many years, but that friendship ended with an argument that we never resolved. Emmalee I only grew close to a few years ago, but she has been very good friend since then. My heartbeat is irregular. I'm sure that something horrible is going to happen to the Marcus sisters. For a moment, I wonder if the invaders are only here to trade or are on a diplomatic mission. I should have known better than to hope.

As I watch, the invader reaches towards a terrified Zoe's neck and stabs her with something. Zoe collapses, and as Emmalee tries to run, another person- did they call themselves the Borg?- advances on her and stabs her. Emmalee lets out a gut-wrenching scream before she too collapses. The fear in the air is palpable, and I feel tears sliding down my cheeks. Still, no one moves on the hill. We are frozen with fear.

Until Zoe and Emmalee stand up and begin to change. Their skin is turning grey and I can see a star-shaped piece of metal sprouting from each of their cheeks. I stare in horror with the others on the hill, until the former Marcus sisters speak.

"We are Borg. You will be assimilated."

Chaos breaks out. The rest of the Borg, including Zoe and Emmalee, advance on everyone else. People on the hill scramble up and run as fast as they can towards the village. I am one of them. I didn't know I could run this fast. I feel myself screaming as I run. My foot catches a rock and I tumble down on all fours. Screaming people trample my ankle as they pass. I haul myself up and keep moving. I don't know how I'm managing to keep going, but I am limping along, my ankle twisted, probably broken. My palms, knees, and feet are cut and bleeding, and my skirt is torn. But I keep moving towards the village. I don't want to look behind me. I'm too scared of what I will see.

I move into the village, my breath coming in ragged gasps. It's then that I risk a look over my shoulder. I regret it immediately.

The Borg are moving over the hill towards the village. Slowly walking, all of them, including the Marcus sisters and some barely recognizable people who were on the hill.

I keep running towards my house, screaming for people to run and hide. I stop for a moment in an alleyway, leaning against the wall of a bakery. My breathing slows, and for a moment I am safe and alone. Until I hear that mechanical whirring. I look around frantically, struggling to remain silent. I see a ditch that has been abandoned in the process of being dug for waste storage and limp as fast as I can towards it.

I think the whirring is getting louder, and as my panic mounts I clamber down that ladder to the bottom of the ditch. I pull the ladder away, flattening it against the ground as quickly as I can move with my injuries. The ditch is too deep for anyone to jump into, but I pick up a shovel for a weapon anyways and scramble to a shallow, shadowed hollow in the corner with an overhang of stone above it.

I just sit there for a while, listening to the whirring. From my hollow, I can't see the top of the ditch. As my panic mounts, I wonder if I've made the wrong decision. If someone finds me, I'm stuck in the ditch. The whirring stops. I exhale slowly, the pain of my injuries finally catching up to me. Could I survive this?

Once again, I shouldn't have hoped. All I can see from my hollow is a pair of dark, heavily armored feet smack down mere meters in front of my face. He jumped into the ditch! The Borg sees me. He starts slowly advancing towards me. I know I'm done for, but then I remember my shovel. I swing it at him, momentarily forgetting my injured hands and sore arms. The shovel swings pitifully at him, the embodiment of my desperation. To my surprise, it bounces off of his armor a few inches away from it with a flash of light. His face shows no reaction. I gasp, suddenly, because I recognize that face.

"Elijah?" I whisper.

The response is that of the others who have been 'assimilated'.

"You will be assimilated. Resistance is futile."

"Elijah, don't do this! It's me, Celia!" My voice is pleading. I am desperate.

He shows no reaction as he gets closer to me. He then reaches to me, and I shrink back, trying to roll away from him, but the stone overhang blocks me. The thick silver tubes I have seen injected into the necks of my fellow victims are coming towards my neck. I scream louder than I have ever screamed before as they create a deep incision in the soft skin between my neck and ear. The pain is excruciating, and my neck tingles slightly around the injection site. I find my consciousness fading back into my mind, slipping away. I collapse, gone.

I wake in a dark room bathed with green light. I can see a needle coming towards my eye, but I can't blink nor can I shrink away. I want to scream from the pain, but no sound comes out. Something is attached to my eye, and I can only see darkness in my left eye. I feel heavy. I realize that it is because of thick armor coating my legs and abdomen.

I recognize the Queen, although I have never seen her before. Her voice is calming to my turbulent mind. I don't want it to be. I want to fight.

"There is no 'I', Eight of Ten. There is only us." The Queen bends closer to me. I can feel her breath on my ear.

"You have a strong spirit. It will help us give you perfection. You are a drone now. There is no Celia. There is only the Collective."

Armored pieces are put on my arms, hands, and head. I realize that my hair is gone as wires are drilled into my head along with objects covered in blinking lights. It hurts. I want to give up. But I keep fighting on instinct.

I can feel the presence of the Queen, and of the thousands of other drones on the cube. I feel the Vinculum. The Vinculum pushes down on my mind with force that I believe can break even the Queen. It wants me to be obedient. I feel it, pulsing from the center of the Cube. It terrifies me, it presses my thoughts into a place where I can't reach them anymore. I can hear the voices. There are too many voices. I reach up to clutch my head, as if that will stop the voices. I find I can't move any part of my body.

The Queen whispers from within my mind, her voice ringing clear above the others.

"Let go. We can give you perfection. You are Eight of Ten, Primary Adjunct of Trimatrix 97. You are a drone. There is no individuality, only perfection. Listen to the Collective."

The Queen smiled, feeling the drone who was formerly Celia give in to the Queen and the pulsing power of the Vinculum, feeling her being reduced to just another drone, one voice of many in the hive.

"Welcome to the Collective."

* * *

Part 2: Hive

Screams rang out from the fleeing victims of the Borg. The drone who was designated Eight of Ten, Primary Adjunct of Trimatrix 97 moved towards the Starfleet officers on the Federation starship. This was Wolf 359, which would be remembered as the worst battle against the Borg that the Alpha Quadrant had ever known. The Queen's voice echoed in the minds of all of the drones, and Eight of Ten heard the Collective's instructions. The instructions varied for each drone.

 _Advance on Subject 269._

Eight of Ten cornered the victim, obeying her Queen and her Collective.

 _Assimilate_.

Ignoring the screams and pleading of Subject 269, Eight of Ten ejected her assimilation tubules into the soft flesh of the Subject's neck.

Eight of Ten picked up the Subject. It was a Bolian woman, who had just been injected with Eight of Ten's nanoprobes. Eight of Ten attached a transport pattern enhancer to Subject 269's arm. The woman was beamed to Cube 1473, where she would be fully assimilated. A human male wearing a Starfleet security uniform came running around the corner. He had a phaser rifle, which he fired at Eight of Ten. The energy discharge was absorbed by her shielding. The Collective had already adapted to the standard frequency of Federation weapons.

 _Assimilate Subject 327._

Eight of Ten obeyed.

On the outside, Eight of Ten was just another drone, just another part of the hive. On the inside, a girl named Celia fought for individuality.

The Queen knew, of course. She knew everything. The voices of the Collective coupled with the Queen's persuasion made the Vinculum's function much more efficient. A Vinculum was found at the center of every Borg vessel, and brought order to chaos within the minds of all drones. It suppressed individuality.

For most species, the Vinculum completely obliterated individuality. Drones assimilated from Species 2311 had a peculiar response to the Vinculum. The Vinculum appeared to trap the drone's consciousness within the mind, so the individual was merely repressed instead of eliminated. The Queen took no action because it did not interfere with the efficiency of the drones, merely allowed the individual to see every task that the drone performed.

Celia watched everything that Eight of Ten, that _she_ , did, but was powerless to stop it. She was Borg. She assimilated millions, and was powerless to do anything about it. She hated the Borg, the Queen, and every single Vinculum. She hated how she adapted to every weapon fired at her. She hated everything. But she couldn't do a thing about it.

All Celia could do was to watch as she committed endless atrocities as a drone, trapped within herself. Celia looked forward to the day when she would be the drone killed with weapons fire before the Collective could adapt.

Some drones, such as Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix 01, were liberated by Starfleet. Some children, namely Mezoti, Azan, Rebi, and Icheb, were liberated from their Borg maturation chambers by Starfleet. Some drones, such as Third of Five, were given a name and individuality by Starfleet. Third of Five became Hugh of Borg. Eight of Ten was never liberated. She was only a part of the Hive. She moved and breathed with the Collective. She _was_ the Collective. No one, in any Quadrant of the Milky Way Galaxy, could safely say that they had never lost anyone to the Borg. It could be a friend of a friend's cousin's stepsister, or it could be a parent. No one was safe. Celia lost her homeworld, Lumura, and her entire race. It mirrored the El'Aurians, a long-lived race of listeners that had had only a tiny fraction of their people escape assimilation. But it was different for Lumurans. There were no survivors.

The Borg claim that they seek perfection. Celia knows that that is true. But she also knows that no amount of hoping, or any action she could take, would ever liberate her. She would never be the next drone liberated by Starfleet. As the Borg say, resistance is futile.

Celia will never be free.


End file.
